The Breaking Point
by A.S. Mitchell
Summary: "I am Vegeta," the boy proclaimed, pushing his father's cape out of the way. "Prince of all Saiyajins." / My take on Vegeta's life growing up under Frieza.
1. Chapter 1

*****_Just trying to stave off writers block._

_There is no excuse for this._

* * *

The group of boys carried on under the never ending red sky, boasting and bragging, each insistent that they were strongest. Vegeta had no interest in socializing with them, not only because they were low-class, but also because all they seemed to be able to do was argue. He listened without much interest, sorely wishing his father were not busy. Beside him stood Nappa, large and thick like a statue, beefy arms folded across his chest.

"I'm the strongest," one boy insisted, chest puffed out proudly. The others opposed, waving their hands in dismissal and scoffing.

"No," another said, plowing into the first and knocking him to the ground. "I am!" Dust rushed into the air, spreading out into a large, thick cloud. Some of the boys pointed and laughed.

"You're both wrong," a third announced. He was visibly older than the rest, with a thick mane of spiky hair. He smirked and planted a foot firmly on the other two boys, still wrestling around on the ground, and held his hands out, gathering an energy blast. "I'm the strongest."

"How long will my father be?" Vegeta asked, watching the display.

Nappa shrugged a shoulder, arms still crossed. "Could be a while. Frieza's in there." Useful, as always.

Vegeta nodded, though agitated. "Very well." he pushed off the wall and unfolded his arms. As the children continued to squabble, he left the shade and approached them; some froze and looked back at him anxiously, others didn't dare look at him at all. Even the eldest's energy black shrank and faded to nothing, the two captives under his foot rolling out of the way and quickly standing at attention. Sweat glistened on their brows.

Hands on his hips, Vegeta jerked his head toward the band of boys. "Which one of you is strongest?" he asked.

This time, no one spoke up. Instead, heads turned and fingers pointed.

"All right then." he nodded, approaching the chosen one. He looked up as he addressed him, since the boy was considerably taller. "You. What is your name?"

"Kinomi," he answered.

"Very well, Kinomi. We will do battle." His tail swayed behind him. "Do you accept?"

To anyone that didn't know him, he might not have looked intimidating at all, but even for being so young, he was already a gifted fighter. What he lacked in brute strength he made up for in agility and sheer willpower. Vegeta was remarkably strong for someone his age, and he reveled in his abilities.

The older boy paused, and then flushed. He nodded, regaining his composure, though his tail twitched nervously. "I would be honored."

"Good."

He instructed the others to stay well out of the way and slipped into his beginning strange, pondering the capabilities of his opponent. He flew at Kinomi with speed that obviously surprised him, first aimed for the side of his head. Kinomi scarcely got out of the way in time, grabbing hold of the young prince's wrist and throwing him into the air.

Vegeta landed a few feet away, tail wrapping itself around his waist. "Not bad," he said.

Kinomi nodded his thanks, making his first real mistake. In a matter of seconds, he was slamming backwards into the cracked desert-like ground, dust flying into the air. He gasped in pain and rolled over. He managed to get to his knees when Vegeta's leg collided with his stomach. This time, a large, disorganized circle formed around them, children cheering loudly. Even a couple of the older men came in for a closer look, standing tall and quiet, unlike their younger counterparts, their skillful eyes following each move.

Kinomi sprung to his feet.

"You're fast," he commented, flinging two energy balls at the prince. One hit him in the shoulder, sending him spiraling into the dirt, the other missed completely. Kinomi ascended into the air, in attempts to get the drop on his opponent.

"I know," Vegeta said from behind him, an energy blast dancing at the tip of his finger, growing and growing. "Looks like you lose. Nice try, though."

Kinomi froze, staring wide-eyed as the blast came right for him. It collided with him and sent his lifeless body bouncing and scraping against the earth, shooting loose pieces of rock at bystanders.

Vegeta waited at the ready for an attack fire, but none came. The crowd stared on in silence as the dust settled. Kinomi, clearly hurt, slowly sat up several seconds later, grasping at his shoulder. He waved his hand in defeat, struggling to his feet. Everyone cheered loudly.

Smirking, Vegeta returned to the ground, his boots clicking softly against the dry earth. Pathetic. He had expected much more fight out of a boy his size, and was seconds from saying so when all of the sudden Nappa stood before him.

"Prince Vegeta, your father wishes to speak with you."

Narrowing his eyes, Vegeta felt his hands clenching into fists. "It's about time," he said, allowing Nappa to lead the way.

As they entered, Vegeta noticed several of his father's men standing around, seemingly with no purpose, and none would look at him. They stared on into oblivion, as though they were the only ones in the entire room.

"Vegeta," his father said, turning to face him. He had an odd expression on his face. Not exactly angry-almost pensive. Vegeta's gaze shifted to Frieza, adorned in his people's armor. He thought he looked rather ridiculous, though he knew better than to say so out loud. Frieza had a very powerful reputation, almost as powerful as his fathers. He often heard people whispering about him when they thought no one was listening. "Come here."

And so he did, tail wrapping itself around his waist once more.

"Say Hello to Lord Frieza," his father introduced the lizard-creature they had been working with for several years now.

He did not, only stared up blankly at the lizard-freak. Behind him, Nappa got down on one knee.

Frieza blinked in surprise, and then said with a leer, "My, not very well mannered, is he?"

His father's cloak came between him and Frieza as he said, "I apologize, Frieza, he is but a boy."

"I am Vegeta," the boy proclaimed, pushing his father's cape out of the way. "Prince of all Saiyajins."

"Presumptuous, as well," Frieza said. "Hasn't changed a bit, has he?"

Vegeta folded his arms, looking up at his father expectantly.

Frieza smirked.

"Vegeta," King Vegeta began, walking about as he often did when speaking at length, "Because of certain circumstances..." he trailed off, a pained expression on his face. He sighed deeply. "Because of certain circumstances, it has been suggested that you go with Lord Frieza for a period of time."

Vegeta blinked, watching his father turn to him slowly. "Father?" he whispered.

"You will go with Lord Frieza," he said quietly, and when the boy began to object, he simply raised his hand, silencing him at once.

"A barter," Frieza said, his tail slapping at the ground impatiently. "To make sure Daddy dearest upholds his end of the bargain." he nodded to King Vegeta.

"How long will you keep him?"

"That's really up to you, Vegeta," Frieza replied coldly, eyes narrowing. "Once I'm sure you won't double cross me again, we'll make arrangements to have the boy brought back. Until then, this is the only way I can be sure I can trust you." he smirked, long, slow and lazy. "You understand, don't you?"

Again? Vegeta, positive he hadn't been told everything, frowned as Frieza offered him a hand. He looked back at his father, not understanding, and then to Nappa, who would not meet his gaze.

"Father-"

"Do not argue with me," his father commanded. "I have made up my mind."

Vegeta frowned softly, and then took Frieza's hand.

"_Good-bye_," Frieza said in a pleasant singsong. His grip was icy and strong, and Vegeta felt his stomach knot up in worry as he was lead away, watching over his shoulder as his father disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

_I am having such a bad day. It felt really good to sit down and write for a few hours. Good therapy. There's a typo or a wrong word in there, somewhere. I saw it while spell-checking, but missed it, and haven't been able to find it since. So if you find it let me know and I'll change it ASAP.  
_

_

* * *

_

Vegeta marched behind Frieza in silence, moving in and out of shadows overhead. The ship was bigger than he imagined; it could have gone on forever for all he knew, and he was already growing tired of all the walking. There must have been a quicker way to get around, though Frieza was probably putting him through the long trek just to prove a point.

"I still don't understand why I'm here," he said at last, trying to keep his voice neutral. The outside of the ship was about as dumb-looking as Frieza was, but although he hated to admit it, so far he was impressed with what he'd seen inside.

Frieza answered without stopping or looking back. "Because your father foolishly tried to deceive me."

Vegeta's mind reeled. Why hadn't he been told what was going on? His father never kept things from him. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Saiyajin!" Frieza's tail swung angrily. "Your father sent a fleet of men to my base while I was away, intending a takeover. His efforts, however, failed." He chuckled, a deep, vulgar sound that made Vegeta's skin crawl. He knew now to what Frieza referred.

Several days ago, a fleet of men had been dispensed to lead another invasion. Only three returned, two dying later due to serious injuries. It was unheard of- it was even common for children to return when they were through with the mission. His father, high atop his throne and looking grave, put talk of the incident to rest immediately. It was off limits, and anyone found talking about it would face dire consequences. It had seemed strange at the time, since rarely that many men perished in a single mission, but Vegeta, unknowingly having information withheld, wasn't concerned. A bad turn of events was all it was, a fluke.

But the pieces of the puzzle fit exactly, his father's deceit staring him in the face as plain as day.

Vegeta tried to come up with an intelligible response, but could not, and so he remained silent, his chin tucked to his chest, eyes narrowed.

Frieza, sensing his chagrin, said very casually, "Not a very smart move on his part, but then again, your father isn't a very smart man to begin with, is he?"

Stopping dead in his tracks, Vegeta's head shot up, his expression grim. A part of him knew Frieza was baiting him just to rile him up, but he couldn't stop the words from coming. "You take that back!" he shouted. "You take that back right now!"

"Or what?" Frieza came to a halt, his back to the young prince. He turned, slowly, an ugly grin spreading wide across his face.

Vegeta could feel his face beginning to redden, his muscles becoming tight and his body trembling in anger. Even his ears were beginning to go red.

Frieza threw his head back and laughed again, and then shot his hand out without warning, slapping Vegeta soundly across the face. His laughter came to an abrupt stop, replaced with his usual gravelly voice. "There's more in store for you if you don't learn to control that temper of yours, Vegeta. Now be a_ good boy_ and shut that mouth of yours."

All Vegeta could do to keep the stinging pulsation in his cheek at bay was to press his hand down over it and follow quietly, staring vehemently at the back of his captors skull. He wanted so baldly to blast the freak into oblivion. He was angry; angry with his father for lying to him, especially for just handing him over as if it were no big deal. He, the Prince of his race, should not have to serve as collateral.

"Don't misunderstand me," Frieza began in a softer manner. "I want you to enjoy your time here. You are my guest." he paused. "You'll be a great fighter, Vegeta, I can sense it. You could be of great value to me someday."

Several minutes later, they came upon a large metal door. It opened in two halves that slipped up into the ceiling, and Frieza walked in, going directly to his throne. Vegeta followed reluctantly. There was a funny looking hoovering chariot of sorts, and people everywhere manning their stations, paying no mind to the child on board.

"Ah, Lord Frieza," a blue-skinned man with long green hair greeted, bending at the waist. "I take it everything went as planned?"

"Exactly as planned, Zarbon."

Zarbon walked -no, glided- toward Vegeta, tall and thin and not very threatening looking at all. In fact, he seemed rather tame, with a strong jaw and thin nose. He wore his long hair in a braid, complete with earrings and a bejeweled forehead. Vegeta did his best to contain his laughter. Frieza's men were nothing like his fathers; large and thick and deadly looking.

"This must be the prince," Zarbon spoke as though Vegeta weren't right in front of him.

"I am Prince Vegeta," Vegeta informed him with a nod. "Prince of all Saiyajins."

Zarbon smiled broadly. "Arrogant little brat."

"Isn't he just?" Frieza agreed. "I love it. It will be most entertaining to watch him break."

Vegeta stared at nothing as they spoke, pretending to listen. He did not care what they had to say about him.

One of Frieza's men delivered him with a tall glass of dark liquid, and he summoned a henchman as he sipped at the glass. A short, pudgy pink man with blue lips and feminine eyes rushed up and bowed, a difficult feat considering his size.

"Yes, Lord Frieza?" the man inquired, still on one knee.

"Dodoria," Frieza began, swirling the glass slightly, "I have a job for you."

Dodoria blinked and nodded. "Of course."

"The boy. Take him to get settled in. Keep him out of trouble and see to it that he's fed. I'll give you further instructions later on."

Dodoria looked uncertainly to the young boy, his mouth nearly dropping open. "But sir-"

Frieza was having none of that. He leaned forward in his throne, shouting so fiercely that spittle flew at the bowing man. "Do as I say, Dodoria, if you know what's good for you!"

"Yes, sir," Dodoria answered quietly, his eyes dropping away. He stayed for a few more seconds and struggled to his feet, lumbering toward Vegeta, who wondered why Frieza should keep such an out of shape man employed. Surely, he couldn't be of much use in battle.

A hand fell on Vegeta's shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced back to see Dodoria there, and scowled deeply until he took the hint and released him.

"This way." He swung his hand toward the opening door, and the two of them began down the hall again.

Dodoria waddled alongside him silently, his thick shoulder pads swinging with each step. Vegeta wondered what kind of strength he might hold. Frieza wouldn't keep him around, otherwise. Zarbon, though his appearance was laughable, seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps he was underestimating Dodoria, he thought as they neared another large metal plated door.

The young Sayajin prince blinked several times in surprise as he was lead into the ship's mess hall. Frieza's men populated the area. They appeared oafish and inexperienced compared to his father's followers; some sat in large groups while others sat alone, sipping steaming cups of coffee or armed with crosswords or books.

"This is unacceptable," he announced, speaking very articulately. He scanned his surroundings, nearly cringing when it hit him. Too many unfamiliar smells. It was revolting. "I will require a private dwelling in which to take my meals." Never in his entire life had he eaten in the presence of the lowly henchmen. It was unheard of.

A group of men in close proximity broke out into a chorus of laughter. They appeared to be pointing in his direction, but he paid them no mind.

"Sit down," Dodoria demanded.

Vegeta opened his mouth to chastise the man for speaking to him in such a way when he was grabbed by the hair and hoisted into the air. He cried out and wriggled around until he was released, dropping down into a chair ten times too big.

"I said,_ sit down_, runt!"

The young prince rubbed at his tender scalp, his gaze cold and dangerous. How could he be expected to eat among the commoners? It wasn't right. He closed his eyes and tried to block their invidious stares, waiting to be served.

"You! Quit standing around and get the kid something to eat."

Seconds later, he heard a plate being slid before him. He opened his eyes and scowled, his gaze shooting immediately to the server.

"Surely you must be joking," he said simply.

The plate was so small it was practically insulting, and the amount of meat on his plate wasn't even fit for a toddler. There were strange-colored...things, on his plate as well, things he he'd never seen before.

The idiot who had served him stood by the tableside, arms folded until Dodoria dismissed him.

Vegeta growled. "Just what is this...thing, right here?"

"That is a vegetable," Dodoria replied. "Eat it."

Startled, Vegeta replied, "I most certainly will not. It is oddly colored and smells bad. Take it back at once."

"This isn't your planet, kid. Your words don't have any weight here. Now shut up and eat."

Angered at being spoken to in such a way, Vegeta swiped at the plate with his hand. "I refuse!" he shouted as the plate shattered.

Several others winced at the sudden loud noise, and turned to see what all the fuss was about. Some insignificant of Frieza stepped forward, presenting Dodoria with a new plate.

Dodoria slid the plate in front of Vegeta.

"You're nothing but a clown!" Vegeta growled lowly in his throat. "A pink clown! I'll see to it that I have your head for this!"

It was no use, the man wasn't listening to him any longer, and the crowd was beginning to lose interest.

He pushed the plate away and stood on his chair with some difficulty. "When I tell my father-"

Dodoria, a knowing sort of smirk that left Vegeta unsettled inside.

"Father. Right. Well, kid," he said, patting his stomach, "You can either eat what's on your plate, or don't eat at all." he shrugged. "You can starve for all I care, you filthy little monkey."

Vegeta hopped down from the chair and calmly walked up behind the man. "I refuse!" he shouted again, pulling and tugging at his armor and kicking at the back of the mans legs. He let go of a handful of armor and began forming a ball of energy when he felt a powerful kick that sent him sailing across the room and into a wall. He wobbly lifted his head and watched as Dodoria approached.

"Not hungry? Fine." He felt a muscular hand close around the length of his tail, causing him to cry out. "Time for bed, then."

* * *

He spent his first night on Frieza's ship in a medium sized room, alone, listening to the groaning of the ship as it idled in space. He fought sleep by keeping himself active, bouncing up and down on the bed in a trance, shooting ki blasts at what little furniture the room had. Sleep claimed him several hours later, on the cold floor, with the ruins of his quarters around him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Rise and shine, kiddo," a voice sounded as the door slid open, revealing the trashed interior. "Oh man, what did you do?"

Vegeta, coiled into a small ball on the floor, breathed in deeply. His tail stretched, flicking at the air gently, then curled up between his legs again. He yawned and shut his weary eyes in attempts to resume sleeping. He grabbed at his cape and pulled it tighter around himself.

"Ah-ah," the voice said, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him to his feet. Vegeta pouted, and then yawned again, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. He looked up blearily and saw one of Frieza's men, and then frowned, realizing where he was. So it hadn't been a dream.

Someone tightened their grip on his arm and shook him. "What happened in here?"

"I… was upset," Vegeta replied brokenly, the floor freezing against his bare feet.

"Next time, be upset in the drill room. You can't go around destroying things when you don't get your way." Vegeta ignored the man's warnings, feeling his stomach protest.

"Hey, kid, are you listening?" Another shake of his arm.

"Stop!" Vegeta cried, wrenching his arm free. The skin stung with white fingerprints no doubt blossoming under his clothing, but he refused to show any sign that it actually hurt.

The guard jerked back in surprise, hand visibly reaching for his weapon. Vegeta found himself smirking. What a coward. "Go get cleaned up," he said, trying to sound as austere as before.

Grunting in response and rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes, Vegeta headed to the restroom. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, all the while regarding the strange bristled brush with a sense of anxiety. He examined his arm in silence, lowering at the marks. At least they were beginning to fade. When he was through and dressed, the guard led him down a wide, well lit hall.

They came upon a door with strange lettering on it and entered. It was a small white room with a bed, a privacy curtain, and a glass encasement that served as someone's office, Vegeta guessed judging from the desk.

"Ah. You're early." A tall dark skinned man with bushy eyebrows and an unpleasant demeanor stepped into view. "Very well, let's get on with it then. Lose the armor and strip down."

Vegeta flinched, eyes wide. "Me?"

The man raised his eyebrows. "Yes, you. Go on. Believe me, kid, it's nothing I haven't seen before. I'm a doctor, after all." He then noticed Vegeta's tail and said, "oh, a tail? Curious."

He began to shake his head when the guard mentioned that he wouldn't want to have to inform Frieza of his disobedience.

"This is ridiculous!" Vegeta insisted. "I will not-" he paused for lack of words, "-remove my clothing, doctor or no!"

Deciding to bypass the impending argument, the man began rummaging through a drawer. He returned with a needle and a vial of syrupy liquid. "We can do this the easy way," he said evenly, then waved the vial around. "Or the hard way. It's up to you."

"I'm not afraid of a needle," Vegeta nearly laughed, but then stopped, his stomach grumbling loudly. He really didn't look forward to spending the next couple of hours drooling on himself in a bed when he could be eating. Protesting loudly, he began to remove his armor and clothing.

His guard shook his head. "Saiyajins."

The man ran a few tests, uncomfortable and humiliating, but none too painful, documenting his finds as he went. He asked far too many questions for a doctor. It seemed he had little information on Saiyajins, and was pleased to have a live specimen. Vegeta flinched at the word 'live', wondering how many of his people the crackpot might have dissected in the past. He was beginning to grow irate when he was handed back the armor. He quickly dressed and lifted the chest plate over his head when he noticed something strange.

"This isn't mine," he stated aloud, looking up sharply. "Where is my armor? It has my family's insignia on it in red, right here," he pointed to the breastplate. "And my cape, what have you done with it?"

"Ahh," the doctor said innocently. "Bosses orders, son."

"What?" he barked in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, I don't run the show, I just follow orders." He shrugged apologetically and scratched at the side of his face.

"Give it back."

"Sorry, kid."

"This isn't fair! Why can't I keep it?"

"Acting like a crybaby won't do anyone any good," the guard said. He had almost forgotten about him.

So enraged that he was panting, Vegeta spat, "I won't wear it!" as though it were a threat. He dropkicked the chest plate into a cabinet, the case and some of its purchase shattering. He brought back his foot, intent on delivering it into the man's shin, when something caught him on the side of the head, sending him careening into the ground.

"You just don't learn, do you?"

He felt fingers weave themselves into his hair and clench tightly, pulling him up to his feet. Vegeta hung there, his legs refusing to work, grimacing at the doctor who did nothing.

The hand shoved him forward and released him to his knees.

"Get dressed. Every second you spend screwing around in here is one second subtracted from the time you get to eat."

When he had caught his breath, he dressed, forcing himself into the unmarked armor. It felt strange, as if it didn't fit correctly, which was absurd considering it formed to each wearer's body. But it wasn't his, and his backside was strangely cold, as were his shoulders. Now he looked like every other fool on the ship.

Vegeta felt his resolve deteriorating as they traveled to the mess hall. He was so hungry he couldn't think straight. He sat without order and was presented with a plate, filled with unknowns again, much to his displeasure. He stared at the food crossly. His mouth watered. He could almost taste the meat, but found that he could not bring himself to eat. The fork clattered loudly onto the table.

The chair pulled out from the table.

"You can refuse to eat for as long as you want," the man said to him, sounding indifferent. "No one's going to stop you. Go ahead and starve; that'll just be one less Saiyajin we'll be forced to deal with."

* * *

Vegeta soon learned that the guard was right. No one cared that he had not eaten in days-in fact, he wasn't even brought to the mess hall any longer. His rebellion went unnoticed.

His head pounded and his vision blurred. He experienced mini-blackouts on the third day, and spent far too much time asleep. His quarters hadn't been touched, either-everything remained as he'd left it, knocked over, broken, or shoved as far out of the way as possible.

Every morning someone would come to fetch him-everything was a blur so he could never be sure who it was-and present him to Frieza. He knew it to be true, because he could remember being forced into the kneeling position at least once a day. Looking back, he wished he hadn't wasted so much time trying to prove a point. All the time wasted being stubborn could have been used doing something of worth. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so ill behaved, Frieza might have even granted him a chance to see his father.

On the fourth day, he broke, eating everything on his plate, even the putrid-smelling, odd-colored-what had they been called?  
Vegetables? It took every ounce of strength he had to keep the meal down, though he managed. Still, he felt ill, heavy-headed and disoriented for a time until his body reacquainted itself with sustenance. Dodoria seemed to delight in watching him.

The strangest thing was the obvious change in attitude toward him after he began eating. Not Dodoria, but the others. They seemed less hostile toward him, some even went as far as to try and pat him on the head, as though he were a mere peasant-child. He would glare and pull away, but oddly enough the hitting had almost come to a standstill.

_"I'm pleased to see that you're eating again," Frieza had said to him, almost cordially. "We wouldn't want you wasting away to nothing now would we? You see, if you follow orders and do as you're told, it's not that bad, now is it? But if you disobey..." he let his words trail off, smiling. A hand found it's way to the boys shoulder, squeezing tightly. "But that won't happen anymore, will it?"_

_Frieza took his silence as confirmation. "Good." The hand was removed._

_The question was quiet, halted, with a hopeful tone only a child could manage. "My father..." he began, noting the way Frieza looked at him. He almost wished he hadn't spoken up at all. It was maddening listening to the lizard-freak rant; the fool loved to hear himself talk. "If I start behaving better and do as you say, may I see him?"_

_"It's a possibility." Frieza's words hung in the air._

_Swallowing thickly, Vegeta turned his eyes to the ground. He was silent for a long moment. "Then I will do my best."_

_"I knew you would come around, eventually, Vegeta. Now run along, I've business to attend to."_

_With your father, Vegeta finished in his mind._

And so the routine began. He would wake, wash up, walk the halls in silence, eat, and return to his quarters. Occasionally he would be brought before Frieza. He longed to be home. He came to the realization that it was his duty, however incredulous it seemed, to serve aboard Frieza's ship. Soon, his father would prove himself to Frieza, and he would be allowed to return home. He decided that no matter what the outcome, he would do whatever it took to. Even if it meant taking orders like a groveling fool.

After all, no one ever said he had to agree with the nonsense he put up with. He just had to endure it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Am I slow or what? Don't answer that._

* * *

To say Vegeta was bored was an understatement. There was nothing on the ship for a child to do, so he occupied his time with target-practice in his quarters, wearing the springed-mattress out with his constant bouncing. In a weeks time, he was able to do mid-air back flips, although even those lost their excitement. He hadn't been brought before Frieza in several days, and was beginning to wonder if he'd been forgotten.

The drill room was off limits (or so Dodoria told him when he'd asked), and the mess hall was still a place of anxiety. Even so, he learned to eat whatever was placed before him, even knowing he might be ill later. The promise of a swift return home was worth it. The days of guard accompaniment were over, and so after meals, he would roam the halls, searching for something of interest.

He eventually came to a door that did not open upon his command, a curious thing, and immediately flagged down a henchman to ask.

"That?" the man said, peering at the outer exterior of the door. "That, uh, never you mind, kid. Go on and play. Shoo!"

Frowning, Vegeta allowed himself to be nudged a few feet away, though his interest was far from subsided. He wanted to know what went on in that room-it wasn't fair that there was absolutely nothing for him to do but grow old. He decided to ask Frieza again about seeing his father, or at least visiting his planet. The artificial lighting was beginning to hurt his eyes, and the temperature of the ship was too cold for his liking.

He nearly made it back to his quarters, irritated beyond belief and wanting to shoot a hole in someone, when a man approached him, grabbing him by the shoulder roughly. He blinked at the hand. He thought the days of rough handling were over. Apparently not.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Quiet, kid."

Planting his boots into the ground, he demanded again, "Where are you_ taking_ me? Answer!"

"Vegeta," the man said evenly, as though they were life-long friends. "Where do you think?"

Vegeta seethed. He did not like all these imbeciles referring to him by his first name. It wasn't right. He took a mental snapshot of each offenders face, so that when he had his chance, he could make them pay individually. You did not talk down to royalty, even if they were a child. On his planet, people bowed to him. He tore out of the man's grasp as they entered, and he ran up to Frieza, fists clenched tightly.

"I will not be handled like a prisoner!" he cried loudly, gaining many people's attention.

Frieza looked him over and began to laugh. Something about the laugh just didn't seem right. "A prisoner? My, what an imagination the boy has!"

Zarbon brought a hand to his mouth, and he too, laughed.

"Stop laughing! You said I could see my father, and you haven't upheld your word! Your men do not treat me with the respect that I deserve! I demand to see my father!"

The humor drained from Frieza's face almost instantly. His mouth became a thin line, eyes narrowed dangerously. A measure of silence passed in which Frieza just looked at him.

"You're right, Vegeta. I have treated you unfairly." Vegeta listened as he spoke, thinking that maybe he was dreaming. He wasn't really here -Frieza had lashed out at him for causing an uproar- he was really in the medical bay, with a smashed up head. He had to be. "It seems things with your father haven't exactly been going as I'd planned. However, I've arranged a little surprise for you."

The tension rose steadily, making Vegeta wrap his tail, quivering in fear, around his waist. He had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen, that maybe he'd gone too far. He couldn't tell if Frieza was putting up a front, luring him into something with his kind words and gestures, or if he really did see something in him that he liked.

A cluster of men stepped to the side suddenly, revealing Nappa, looking rather stoic. He smirked seeing the prince, and began a leisure walk towards him as Frieza said, "I hope this makes up for everything."

Vegeta didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If there were anyone in the world he'd rather not see, it was Nappa, but then again, Nappa treated him as a prince should be treated. Perhaps the arrangement wouldn't be so bad, after all. Perhaps he was simply brought on board to keep him occupied, to fill his head. Vegeta didn't care. He was just so glad to see another Saiyajin.

"Nappa," Vegeta said quietly. He said nothing, though, and instead turned to Frieza. He bowed, and then stood, leading Vegeta away.

He was so confused.

"Why are you here?"

"I've been moved up in ranks," he explained with a smirk, not trying to be modest. "So it's only natural I come here. This is big. Real big. With Frieza's help, we're doing three times the work twice as fast."

Two guard materialized by their sides. Nappa didn't seem to notice or care, though, and they continued.

"And my father?" Vegeta asked, looking hopeful.

"Still ironing things out with Frieza." he said carefully. "Things look good, though. I wouldn't worry, Prince Vegeta."

"Why wasn't I told that we launched an attack on Frieza's people?" he prompted irritably, folding his arms as he walked. "That's why I'm serving here as collateral, you know."

Nappa took his time in answering. From the bulge in his neck, Vegeta ascertained that he had struck a nerve. "That wasn't supposed to happen. It was a mistake."

"We've never made a mistake before."

"We've made plenty of mistakes." Nappa laughed, though it lacked enthusiasm. "Plenty of them."

Vegeta wanted something to yell about, but in truth, he was just too tired. He longed to be in his own home again, under his own sky.

"Have things changed at all, Nappa?"

"Changed, sir?" Nappa asked, furrowing his brow in thought. "Not that I can think of."

"Good," Vegeta said quietly.

* * *

Things continued as normal as they could. It seemed Nappa was splitting his time between Frieza and him, which was something he was not pleased with. Though any attention was better than none at all, he supposed.

Since Nappa's coming aboard, Vegeta was granted entrance to the drill room, which at first wasn't very impressive. It appeared to be a large white room, no work out materials, nothing mounted on the walls. Eventually, someone showed him how it worked. The white walls melted away, replaced with pitch-dark, a thick, heavy beam of light circling them. One by one, balls of light appeared, zigging and zagging through the air. At first, he scoffed at the idea. This was how Frieza's men trained? It was a game, a lightshow, nothing more.

And then the balls of light began firing at him. That livened things up. He quickly learned where the blind spots were, since he couldn't get a ki blast in edgewise, and spent several hours every day in the drill room (and then several more in the medical bay), sometimes alone, sometimes with Nappa. It was an excellent way to waste time.

Life in space wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in the beginning, but it was not his home.

He had asked Nappa of what was beyond the off-limits door, though Nappa hadn't been around nearly long enough to gain entrance, he'd explained. He still had not been permitted to see his father yet, either, something that bothered him greatly. He had asked Nappa what was taking so long, and Nappa had only told him that his father was a busy man. It wasn't fair that Nappa was allowed off the ship. Moved up in ranks or not, Vegeta had been there a good few days longer, and his privileges were still severely limited, though the treatment had become much better. Few people seemed to oppose or deny him when he threw his fits, which could have been a good or bad thing depending on who was on the receiving end, and some even went as far to call him "prince." Perhaps Frieza had had a word with them, after all.

Days turned into weeks. Vegeta was beginning to feel that if he didn't set his feet on solid land, and soon, he might whiter away to nothing. He even found himself yearning to play with the other children, as absurd as it sounded. He missed listening to their background-bickering. The steady clap of Saiyajin boots on tile was no substitute.

One day, Nappa told him that he thought for sure he would be allowed to visit the home planet, soon. King Vegeta might even come to the ship, he'd said. There was talk of moving more people out into space for a wide scale attack on a planet nearby.

Vegeta felt his stomach twist into knots. He could only hope it was true.


End file.
